


So quite new a thing

by wordplay



Series: That One E.E. Cummings Poem [1]
Category: Glee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-03
Updated: 2013-02-03
Packaged: 2017-11-28 03:26:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/669747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordplay/pseuds/wordplay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-404 reaction ficlet. Somehow, after everything, Kurt is still there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	So quite new a thing

**Author's Note:**

> This was written the day after The Break Up aired, and posted first on [tumblr](http://wordplaying.tumblr.com/post/32936004007/ficlet-so-quite-new-a-thing-r-1000-words-post-404) and then on [LJ.](http://wordplayitout.livejournal.com/27288.html)

In the morning everything looks different. The sun is bright, clear, and somehow everything else is, too.

Blaine sleeps on when Kurt slips from the bed for the shower, not even moving when Kurt hits the bed with his knee on the way to the bathroom; he’s that unresponsive to Kurt’s presence. The water is hot, pounding, unforgiving, and Kurt’s hands wash, slip, style on their own accord. The night before is one long jumble of pain, harsh moments slipping through the haze of steam and memory to reemerge.

The look on Blaine’s face in Callbacks the very moment his voice broke.

That kiss at the doorway.

His confession in the park. _Confession_ , like it was a sin. Because Kurt doesn’t find many things holy, but it really was.

He doesn’t linger in the shower, and he barely looks in the mirror as he dresses and prepares for the day. He doesn’t understand how his body has any right to take up any space right now.

—-

Once Blaine is gone work settles into a rhythm. He is alone now, again, more alone than he has ever been. It should feel like more of the same, something he’s good at, but this is new.

Because now there is sex.

Before, before Blaine, sex wasn’t for him. It was like it bounced off of him, like a field curved around him, and that was fine. And then he went and fell in love with the cutest boy, someone he could be vulnerable with, someone he could trust himself with.

They’d learned about love together. Everything Kurt knows about sex is learned at Blaine’s hands, quite literally – they’re his hands Kurt gives himself up to in the shower, at night in bed, in his dreams. He placed his heart there, sure, but Kurt’s been heartbroken before; he might not have been born ready for that, but he was certainly made ready for it. No matter what anybody says he’s not a princess, but he doesn’t trust easily, and when he was ready to learn about sex it was because he was ready to know more about Blaine, ready to know parts of him (parts of _himself_ , because it all slips and slides until he can’t tell the difference any more. Was he learning Blaine, or was he learning himself with Blaine? Or himself in love, in sex? Who can tell the difference?), the parts of Blaine that nobody else had known before.

Well. That’s over, at least.

——

Now he in New York. And the funny thing about the city is that as dirty, crowded, energetic as it is, the city is also sexy. The trains _vibrate_. There are men _everywhere_. He works at fucking Vogue.com of all places, where gay men are backbone and blood. _Young_ gay men.

He sees them congregate, gathering for lunches and drinks. They laugh and gossip, and soon he will join them. He can see it coming for him, he can see them coming for him. They know one of their own, and up until now he hasn’t been, not really, not completely. He was Blaine’s, and Blaine was his, and together they had formed their own world of two as best they could.

And fine, it hadn’t been perfect – Kurt’s not an idiot, he knows he’s self-absorbed. It’s just that it’s hard, becoming this new person while half of who he is (his body, his skin, his hands, his cock) is wrapped up in a package, parceled off for somebody who can’t come to collect. He has to throw the rest of himself into New York like he was born to it, and he’s split in two – Blaine already has his body, so he has to keep his mind for himself, and god, it’s only fair.

And then… it just wasn’t enough.

—-

Two weeks after it’s over, after Blaine has confessed and been exiled, Kurt stands naked in his bathroom and stares at himself. One afternoon he and Blaine had stood together in Blaine’s bathroom, Kurt wrapped around Blaine warm and pliant from the shower. Kurt had placed his hands against Blaine’s chest, kissed at his neck and said, “Look how tan you are.”

Blaine had tipped his head back to rest on Kurt’s shoulder, his throat golden and a little rough and said, “I like my body when it is with your body,” and Kurt had grinned, whispered, “Naughty boy, stealing lines from poets.”

Blaine had laughed, just a little, low in his throat, and brought his hands up to cover Kurt’s. “It’s true, though. You make me feel so good, Kurt.”

Kurt wraps his arms up and around, around the empty space of Blaine there in his arms. He makes himself not think of what Blaine might have looked like in somebody else’s arms, whether they made him feel so good. Blaine didn’t even give him a name, that’s how little sex meant to him, when it had meant _everything_ to Kurt. _Everything_.

Fine. Okay.

So Kurt looks at the space encircled by his arms and he doesn’t think about the person they once defined. He thinks briefly, for just a second, about who else might fit in that space, and then he curls them around himself. He feels his own torso, his own skin fitting over his bones, and he holds himself together while he closes his eyes.

He is here, he will _still be here_ , but he still can’t look.


End file.
